


This Tiny Bird

by battybatzgirl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: BAMF MJ, Civil War feels, Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Clint eating pasta, Dad Clint Barton, First Dates, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, It's a bit silly, MJ is in it for like .3 seconds but she rocks the house, Oblivious Peter, Precious Peter Parker, Stakeout, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony having fatherly revelations, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 09:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battybatzgirl/pseuds/battybatzgirl
Summary: You can never be too sure of what teenagers do on dates these days. Good thing Tony is excellent at being stealthy.(He's NOT overprotective. He's not.)





	This Tiny Bird

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, I love writing about Clint messing with Tony in restaurants. Who knows why. This little fic might not be my best, but I loved the sass that came from it. XD Enjoy!

Contrary to popular belief, Tony doesn’t do everything with pomp and grandeur. He knows how to be sneaky due mainly to years of avoiding paparazzi and manic ex-lovers. He’s no secret agent willing to change his face like Natasha, but he’s certainly stealth enough to hide from a certain spider-mutant-teenager in the back of an Italian restaurant in an impromptu stakeout.

It started like this: Peter somehow weaseled his way into coming upstate every other weekend for the past three months, spending time in hand-to-hand combat training and generally learning how not to die in battle—the kid is stupidly danger prone, a notion fueled by his self-destructive tendency to put everyone else before him.

(Tony tries not to think of how much it reminds him of someone whose name starts with an _St_ and ends with an _eve_ , but that is neither here nor there.)

Sure, the notion of martyrdom is noble and whatnot, but its _Tony_ who May bitches to when her baby gets hurt, not the bad guys who ultimately get canned. So realistically speaking, taking Peter upstate every once and awhile is the logical decision. It’s not like he would ever say no to it; the kid is in heaven, literally bouncing off the walls every second. He gets into a routine, a safe zone, spending his time away from training always arm wrestling with Thor or playing monopoly with Vision and Bruce until the early hours of the morning when he ultimately konks himself out at the table from exhaustion.

And, okay. Tony’s not _completely_ heartless. Having Peter around is…nice. It’s honestly good to have a break from the heaviness that never seems to leave his shoulders, with the Rogue Avengers still being AWOL and Ross looking toward him to bring his friends in like fugitives. Plus he still has to run his company, deal with shitty employees and shittier business tycoons. Not to mention the little lady named _Crippling Anxiety_ who seems to have his number on her speed dial. Peter’s easy expression of youth is refreshing, and it makes his chest swell with emotion that he doesn’t quite know how to place. The kid is so eager to please. It’s adorable, really.

But having someone to look up to him in the way Peter does is _horrifying_. Suffocating. Like the stuff of nightmares.

So he’s not entirely sure why he doesn’t feel relieved when Peter tells him he’s not coming up this weekend.

“Excuse me?” Tony whips off his glasses and squints up at Peter, who is standing just outside of his car. He’s shifting back and forth on his feet, his bottom lip snagged between his teeth.

“I…I can’t. Go this weekend, I mean.” Peter fiddles with the sleeve of his sweater and looks anywhere but him, glancing around the side street of his school for an escape. “I’m kind of busy.”

“Busy,” Tony repeats. From the front of the car, Happy raises his eyebrows in the mirror. “Busier than spending time with your favorite billionaire?”

“Funny,” Peter jokes shyly, “I don’t remember Mister Osborn ever being upstate with me. Maybe May and I should invite him over for dinner. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Harry, and I bet Oscorp pays their interns.”

Happy barks out a quick laugh and Tony shoots him a look that shuts him up just as fast. He trains his eyes back on the kid, and Peter seems to shrinks back, looking rightfully guilty. The little twerp.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Tony says coolly, sliding his glasses back on. “Now unless it’s life or death, I suggest you cancel your plans and get in the car before I have to ask nicely.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “This isn’t asking nicely?”

“This is _strong suggesting_. Asking involves much more effort.”

The kid looks desperately around one more time, rocking up on the balls of his feet. “Um…It’s just…”

Tony snaps his fingers. “Life or death. Time is money.”

Peter shoots him a helpless little look before ducking his head and mumbling, “Ihaveadate.”

Tony stops then, really stops, and turns to look at the kid straight on. His face has gone red and he’s still not making direct eye contact, and for a second Tony actually thinks he misheard him. “What? I’m an old man, kid. You need to speak louder when you’re conversing with your elders.”

Sighing in defeat, Peter’s shoulder’s sag as he gives in. “ _I have a date_ , okay? I didn’t even know she was into me but she asked me out this weekend and I’ve liked her for a while—”

A dangerous sort of smile curls on Tony’s face. “ _She_ asked _you?_ ” If at all possible, the kid’s face turns a deeper shade of crimson. “That’s… chivalrous.”

“I didn’t know she liked me!” Peter hisses, his shoulders climbing higher and higher to his ears as he becomes more uncomfortable. “She does this thing where she pretends to hate everyone but actually cares a lot, and it’s hard to figure out what she really means because she says the opposite of what she’s feeling.”

Happy smirks from the front seat. “Women.”

“Damn straight,” Tony snickers.

“Shut _up_ ,” Peter moans, covering his face with his hands. “God, this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. I _knew_ you’d make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” Tony lies, not even trying to keep a straight face. “Scout’s honor. Wooing the ladies is a talent _all_ superheroes need. If a hot alien broad comes barreling down from the sky, you gotta know how to sweet talk her back to her own dimension.”

Happy chimes in, “We’ll definitely put you on top of the call list when _that_ happens.”

“It’s Avenging one-oh-one, really. Nat teaches a class on dirty talking Asgardians every Thursday, you should really show up for that.”

Peter looks like he’s about to explode, so Tony throws him a bone. He was fifteen once too, after all.

“But you’ve had a pretty good track record so what the hell, I suppose I can excuse one night for teenage shenanigans.” He leans slightly out of the rolled down window to point between Peter’s eyes. “Remember that gray area? Find the whitest, purest speck in that little area and stay there the whole night. And use protection; I don’t need to deal with thousands of your tiny little arachnid babies swinging around the city.”

“It’s hard enough dealing with _one_ ,” Happy grumbles under his breath. Tony kicks the back of his seat for good measure. 

Peter blinks, looking a little lost. “I—”

“See you in two weeks!” Tony calls cheerfully, rolling up the window in his face. “Gun it.”

Happy pulls away from the curb into traffic. He’s glances up in the mirror uncertainly and asks, “Are you actually letting him slide off this easy?”

Tony snorts. He’s already got his phone out and texting May. They might have disagreed on a few fronts when it comes to what Peter is capable of handling physically in his suit, but there’s never a blurred line when it comes to agreeing on what he can handle outside of it. He doesn’t look up when he responds. “Have you ever known me for letting people slide off easy, Hap?”

**_TS:_ ** _So who is our boy’s mystery date and where am I going to chaperone?_

Happy grunts. “Not really. But you’ve got that look on your face like you’re getting an idea, and that’s never good.” A pause, then, “I _really_ don’t want to tail the kid. I do it every week day, don’t make me do it on the weekends, too.”

May’s response is nearly immediate. _**MP:** Her name is MJ. I suggested going to an Italian place in Brooklyn. I’d like you a lot more if you went but won’t he get mad if he notices?_

He smirks down at the phone and answers out loud what he is about to type. “I can handle it. I’m a master at stealth.”

Which, full circle, is how Tony ends up crammed in a booth in the back of a restaurant in a pair of dark glasses and a baseball hat. And yeah, in retrospect it’s probably not the best of plans that he’s ever thrown together, but whatever. There was just something about letting Peter do this, this tiny little blip of a moment which could alter his young life that Tony wants to be part of. Normally, when he gets sentimental about something like this he throws money at it and runs the opposite direction. But with Peter, it’s…different. For some reason, he wants to physically be there to keep an eye out for him. Or, an eye _on_ him, Tony’s not exactly sure which.

Maybe both?

(Probably both.)

He’s arrived about fifteen minutes before Peter is supposed to get here. May gave him the run-down; MJ is a girl on Peter’s decathlon team and one of his close friends at school. ( _Only friends_ , his mind supplies, but he doesn’t need to start thinking about the variations of teen angst. He lived through it once decades ago, he’s done his time, thank you very much.) Apparently, the kid has been mooning over her for a while, so this first date meant a lot to him.

Tony isn’t even sure why it means so much to _him_ that it means so much to _Peter_. It’s like he’s about to watch a tiny bird attempt to fly for the first time, and he wants to be there to catch him when said bird undoubtedly falls to the ground.

But maybe he should have a little more faith in the kid. He didn’t ever grow up with a father like Howard to discourage him from partnering with women with an IQ below a certain point. And yeah, maybe Tony should give Peter a little more credit. He might do alright on his own, he knew the basics of being polite. It wasn’t like Tony was going to breathe down his neck the entire night like Howard did with him whenever he brought a girl home.

But why he’s comparing his own relationship to his father with his relationship with Peter is something he wants to throw into a dark, dark hole so it can never see the light of day again.

He's not the kid’s _dad_ , for Christ’s sake.

Shoving that thought down, he takes a sip of his drink and ducks his head when he spots Peter stepping through the door. Behind him is a tiny girl with thick curly hair and a perpetual frown that could be seen from space. The hostess leads them to a table in the front of the restaurant, diagonally across from where Tony’s table is. It’s a perfect vantage point, but it could prove to be risky. He ducks again when the kid turns around to pull out her chair, but Peter only has eyes for her. His little expression is so enchanted it makes Tony’s chest ache just looking at him.

Peter settles down across from her, angled so Tony can see his face. In the same moment, a waiter steps over to his table, notepad at the ready.

“Oh no,” he starts, waving his hand. “I’m not—”

“I’d like a wine list, please.”

Tony whips around to see none other than Clint Barton, who easily takes a spare menu from the waiter and slides into the seat across from him.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Tony blurts.

Clint nods, sparing him a glance up from the menu. “Nice to see you, too.”

“Shouldn’t you be in hiding? Or—or in jail?”

“Seriously?” Clint asks, exasperated. “I don’t even get a hello?”

“Seriously,” Tony responds. “Get out before I call S.H.E.I.L.D and tell them your location.”

Clint hums and turns back to the menu. “You wouldn’t. Not unless you wanted to cause a scene, which you obviously don’t because you’re wearing _that_ stupid thing. You know you only ever wear baseball hats when you try to do secret business? It’s like a red flag goes up and says, ‘I’m Tony Stark and I’m up to no good because I’m wearing a baseball hat and I think it means no one will recognize me.’”

Tony shoots him a glare. He doesn’t want to deal with Clint’s sass right now. _Can’t_ deal with it right now. “Barton, I don’t have time for this.”

“I don’t either,” Clint agrees, not taking the bait. “I heard this place has _amazing_ gnocchi and I’ve got to try it.”

Sighing heavily, Tony rests his elbow on the table and rubs at his temples.  “H-how did you even—how—how long— _Christ_.” A headache is starting to form, and the nasty little crawling starts under his skin starts up at the sight of Clint, because the last time he saw him was in a jail cell, because that’s where _Tony_ put him, all of them, his friends, _his family_ —this was not the time to think about this, not now—

The light is gone from Clint’s expression, replaced by open concern. “Easy, Stark. I’m not here because of St—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Tony gasps, his mouth suddenly feeling too dry. “Too soon. Just…” He grips his glass so tight his knuckles ache and he focuses on taking a careful, measured breath. God, he couldn’t even keep it together at the mere mention of Steve’s name? _Pathetic_.

Clint is still looking at him like he’s going to shatter to pieces in any moment, but spares him any further prodding. He points at the hat and says, “You on a stake out?”

Tony gives a half-hearted shrug, swallowing and feeling a bit more grounded. “Of sorts.” His eyes trail behind Clint’s shoulder to watch Peter nervously run his hands though his hair.

“Who is this guy, anyway?” Clint asks lowly. “Hydra? An underground hitman?”

“Uh,” he says, internally cringing at the way Peter keeps messing with his hair. The kid has completely ruined up whatever kind of style he had earlier and now it looks like he’s got a case of massive bed head. And not the cute kind, either.

Clint frowns at his distraction. Tony whisper-shouts, “ _Wait!_ ” but it’s too late, because the archer is already turned to follow his gaze. When he swings back around, he looks surprised.

“The spider kid?”

Tony balks. “ _You_ know about the spider kid?”

Clint rolls his eyes. “With that squeaky voice and the stupid look he gets on his face whenever you breathe in his general direction? Yeah, it’s not hard to put together.” He leans forward slightly and his tone turns serious. “If you really want to keep it a better secret, keep him low on S.H.E.I.L.D’s radar.”

Tony stills, his mouth going dry. “He’s on S.H.E.I.L.D’s radar?”

“ _Everyone_ is on S.H.E.I.L.D’s radar,” Clint says, as if that’s comforting. He turns back to the menu and continues, “Anyone who even looks remotely like they might have magical powers or enhanced anything they add on their watch list. It goes on for _days_ —over eight hundred pages.”

Feeling a little faint, Tony croaks, “What about Ross?”

“Ross doesn’t know.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “How do you know?”

“I know,” Clint says firmly. “It’s my job to know. I’m still a spy, remember? Avenging is only part-time for me. Gossip is my true trade.” He glances up and shoots Tony a smirk. “Speaking of which, it’s not like you to act all paternal for some scrappy teenager from Queens.”

Tony opens his mouth to snap back at him, but the waiter comes over and prompts them for their order. Clint requests some ridiculously huge plate and an expensive dessert. Tony wants to point out there was no way he would be paying for any of this, but at that moment MJ says something that makes Peter throw back his head and _laugh_. The noise is loud in the quiet restaurant, and Peter almost instantly straightens up and claps his hand over his mouth, flushing so hard Tony can see it across the room. Peter looks like he wants to shrink away, but Tony notices the girl’s shoulders are shaking with soft humor, and slowly, shyly, the kid uncurls.

There’s a little twinge in his chest.

“Seriously,” Clint says, breaking the moment. “Why are you tailing him? He’s underage. I’m pretty sure stalking a minor is a felony.”

“What are you even here?” Tony snaps, irritated. “Don’t you have to be annoying somewhere else?”

“Not anymore,” Clint replies innocently. “I just ordered. Now I have to wait for my food.”

“I hate you.”

The archer doesn’t even look phased. If anything, he looks absurdly pleased with himself because he’s that much of a dick to take joy in pissing Tony off. Casually, he starts, “So, the kid…”

Tony spits, “Speak one word to him and I will skewer you on your arrows.”

Clint throws up his hands and leans back in the booth. “I’m not trying to get him to convert to Team Cap, god _damn_. Is it so wrong I just wanted to check him out? He’s gotta meet all of us eventually outside of the battlefield, Stark, team or no team.”

For a second, Tony stares at him, because Clint’s right and they both know it. Things with He Who Will Not Be Named are still rough, but the team will be reformed eventually because the world needs the Avengers. Tony needs the Avengers. And now, whether he officially agreed to it or not, Spider-Man is part of the team, too.

But he’s still just a kid. A kid who just happens to be genetically enhanced.

“Fine,” Tony sighs, slumping as he gives in. “Take him to laser tag or something to bond with him. He’s kind of busy right now.”

Clint smirks. “What, is he skipping class? Break his curfew? Avoiding his chores?”

As Clint entertains himself, Tony glances back over to Peter. Their waiter is bringing their food over, but Peter isn’t paying attention to the actual meal, still wearing a smile so bright it lights up his entire disposition.

“Is he on a date?”

Tony’s gaze snaps to Clint, and maybe it’s the suddenness action that clues him in or the sternness of his expression, but Clint’s eyes widen in recognition. “Wait—seriously?”

He turns in the booth again but Tony’s hand shoots out to grab him to get him to stand still. In his haste, his hand bumps against Clint’s glass of water and it teeters dangerously, sloshing liquid around on the table before Clint’s reflexes kick in and he catches it and rights it.

“Don’t make a scene!” Tony hisses, frantically trying to mop the water with his napkin before anyone notices.

“ _I’m_ not making a scene, _you_ are!” Clint snaps back. “Why are you so nervous?”

Heaving a breath in exasperation, Tony murmurs, “He doesn’t know I’m here. That’s why I’m incognito.”

One of Clint’s eyebrows shoots up. “Why the hell are you trailing the kid on his date?”

“I’m keeping him safe,” he snaps in defense, because that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

The other eyebrow starts to climb as high as the other. “Is there a league of teenybopper heroes and villains I don’t know about?”

Tony shakes his head once and grits his teeth. “No.”

“Then what are you—” An expression of understanding spreads across Clint’s face. “Oh.” Then, a softer little, “ _Oh_.”

He looks at Tony like he just announced he was handing out free puppies. It’s unnerving. “What?”

Clint grins like an idiot. “You’re dadding.”

Tony stares blankly at him. “I’m what?”

“You’re _dadding_ ,” Clint repeats, snickering. “You didn’t get to meet her beforehand and you wanted to make sure she’s worthy for your kid.”

Because Tony can’t think of anything else to say, he dumbly repeats, “ _What?_ ” Then his brain gets back to the program and he starts rambling. “No, no, no. What the fuck even _is_ that? Is that a word? Did you make that up? Don’t answer that, I don’t care. It’s not real, and I’m not doing it.” And because there is something sticky and all around gross rising in him, he holds up a finger and plows on. “Parker isn’t even my kid. He’s a nuisance. A pain in my ass. An irritation in my armor! A—”

“Chip off the old block!” Clint offers helpfully. “An apple that didn’t fall far from the tree!”

“I will punch you in the throat.”

“Protectiveness isn’t bad,” Clint assures him sincerely, ignoring the threat. “It’s natural. I went through the same thing with Cooper’s first day of kindergarten. I staked out his teachers and was on the roof of his school all day just in case anything went wrong. It’s hard to let go of the people we love, especially in our line of work. But kids need to be kids, y’know?”

“He’s _not_ my kid!” he repeats shrilly, panic sliding right up there with anger and whatever that unwanted emotion was he’s been feeling since he walked in. He doesn’t even want to pretend to know what _that_ is. He slams his elbow down on the table and points at Peter over Clint’s shoulder to punctuate his next sentence. “The _only_ reason I’m here is because _that_ little shit has a track record of _lying_ to his aunt about where he is in order to stop crime and _I_ wanted to make sure he was _safe_.”

Clint raises an amused eyebrow. He looks infuriatingly calm compared to how frenzied Tony feels. “She asked you to look after him?”

He grinds his teeth. “I volunteered.”

Clint singsongs, “Dadding!” but before Tony can start in on him again the waiter brings over his food.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything, sir?” the man asks innocently. Tony shoots him a Look, the one he reserves to the people that really piss him off, like two-timing stockbrokers or men who hit on Pepper or that annoying Asian chick at Quiznos who purposely messes up his order every time. The waiter pales and quickly backs away.

“Wow, is that your Quiznos glare? It’s been a while since I’ve seen that one.”

“It’s turning into my _about to fling Barton off the roof_ glare.”

Clint pauses from bringing his fork to his mouth and sighs, putting the utensil back down on the plate. “Okay, all kidding aside. Why are you freaked out by this?”

“I’m not freaked out,” he denies quickly.

“You took time out of your schedule to dress up in disguise at a restaurant to trail him on a date to make sure everything went alright,” Clint deadpans. “You start panicking when I compare him to your kid.” He pauses, then squints at him. “Are you afraid? Is that it?” A slight pause, then, “Because of _your_ dad?”

Everything in the room suddenly seems too loud, too close. Tony sits back in the booth and starts clenching and unclenching his fists, digging his nails into his palms to ground himself. He tries to make his voice sound intimidating but it comes out more shaky than anything. “You are treading on _very_ dangerous trod, Legolas.”

“Tony,” Clint implores, his voice soft and face genuine, “it’s okay for you to feel like this. The kid worships you. You’ve got him wrapped around your pinky finger and you didn’t even try. You’ll probably never be able to shake him off.”

“But what if—” Tony starts fiercely, cutting himself off as a wave of heat rises under his collar. He glances away and finishes softly, “What if _he_ leaves _me?_ ” He bites down hard enough on the inside of his cheek and keeps his eyes trained on down on the table, hating himself for how fucking _weak_ he sounds. “What happens when he grows up and becomes smart enough to realize how shitty of a person I am? What I’ve done? How—how many people— _innocent people_ —I’ve killed?”

Clint sounds uncharacteristically sober as he admits, “I think about that every day.”

Tony glances back to him. There is a weight in his chest, a tightness in his throat that won’t go away no matter how hard he swallows. “I’m _trying_ , Clint,” he says hoarsely. “I didn’t have a good role model, and I’m trying not to fuck it up. I just—don’t know what I’m doing. Or what I’m _supposed_ to be doing.”

Clint smiles. “Welcome to parenthood.”

“It _sucks_ ,” he grumbles. He chugs a bit of his drink and wishes briefly for it to be something strong and acholic.  

“Sure does.” Clint shovels a forkful of pasta into his mouth. “But trust in relationships go both ways. Sometimes you feel like you’re on top of the world with them, sometimes you do your best to guide them and it blows up in your face.” He shrugs. “Gotta take some liberties here and there. Just be glad you missed out on the diapering and vomiting everywhere stage. I had to go through it three times.”

The walls seem a little farther apart, the room a little less noisy, and the air a little easier to breathe. He’s oddly pacified by Clint’s words, the solidarity of being thrown into parenthood in the middle of his superhero life, and his shoulders relax. “You mean on your honeymoon or with your kids?”

“ _There’s_ the dickness,” Clint says, pointing the fork at him. “Wow, for a minute there you had me thinking you were a genuine person.”

“God forbid anyone ever think that.”

Clint snorts and opens his mouth, but he gets cut off by a quiet voice saying, “Hey.”

Both men look up, and Tony nearly jumps out of his seat when he sees MJ staring back at him. “Can you two do your lame superhero meeting somewhere else? It took me _forever_ to get this idiot to go out with me. I don’t want him getting distracted with his next mission. You can wait until after dinner.”

Tony does a pretty good impression of a fish, opening his mouth and closing it a few times when words fail him.

“What?” the girl snorts, smirking. “You think I don’t know? I’m very observant. Puberty doesn’t give you muscles like _that_ , no matter how much testosterone you’ve got.” Then, her expression turns serious and she points a finger in each of their faces. “And he _won’t_ know I know until _I_ tell him. Got it?”

Both Clint and Tony nod, neither speaking. Her face brightens and she chirps, “Nice hat!” before practically skipping back over to her table.

“Did I just get threatened by a child?” Tony asks numbly, watching her go. Peter looks up from where he was messing with his phone and offers her a smile as she sits down, completely oblivious.

“She’s like a mini Natasha,” Clint mutters, sounding haunted as he stares down at his pasta. “You still worried she’s not good enough for him?”

MJ reaches across the table and takes Peter’s hand in hers, weaving their fingers together. A dopey kind of grin spreads across the kid’s face, and fondness blooms in Tony’s chest. But this time, he’s not nervous or uncertain about anything. “Nope.”

It’s comforting to know he’s not the only one looking out for Peter and his dirty little secret, even if he didn’t know it yet. And if the day ever came when Peter lost all trust in him, at least _someone_ would be out there making sure the kid didn’t kill himself.

Maybe this tiny bird won’t come crashing down to the ground all alone after all.

Tony can’t stop the gentle smile forming on his lips. “Alright, Hawky,” he announces, standing. “I’m blowing this popsicle stand.”

Clint looks up at him, his cheeks bulging with food. “Whuff?” He swallows quickly and says, “But we haven’t even had dessert yet!”

“Don’t need the calories,” Tony says smoothly. He gestures to the table. “And I’m not paying for any of this, by the way.”

Clint lets out another offended, “What?” but Tony is already out the door, feeling more at peace with himself than he has in a while.

 

 

 

Later that night, he’s tinkering in his workshop with one of his gauntlets when Happy approaches his desk.

“What’s up, buttercup?” he chirps. Happy doesn’t say anything, wordlessly passing over his phone and heading back up the stairs before Tony can ask him anything.

He glances down at the screen. It’s a voicemail from Peter. Sighing, Tony presses the play button and brings the phone to his ear.

_“Hey, Happy? It’s Peter. I know it’s kind of late but I just got this text from this weird number—not that I don’t get occasional weird texts, that’s not why—er, a-anyway, it’s from Clint Barton? And he told me Mister Stark told him to take me laser tagging? I’m all about hanging out with the Avengers, that’s_ so cool _, but I don’t know if it’s legit? Like, how did he even get my number? I—yeah, May it went well! Ca-can you hang on—_ No _, I’m not on the phone with her right now—Give me three minutes—er, so-sorry. I figured you or Mister Stark would know. Isn’t Barton still a fugitive? Would texting him back count as fraternizing with an outlaw? Isn’t that a felony? Do the Avengers go laser tagging on a regular basis? Is it like a team building thing, or—I-I have to go, May is waving me down. Just—let me know if it’s something I should be worried about. This is Peter, by the way. Peter Parker? Er—okay. Um, bye.”_

About halfway through Peter’s babbling, Tony took out his own phone and started to write a text back.

**_TS:_ ** _It’s Barton. Not a felony, but respond at your own risk._

Tony doesn’t have the heart to tell him Clint is the reigning champion at laser tag. The kid needed to find out some things for himself the hard way.


End file.
